


all these words are yours (heavy as we go)

by passeridae



Series: milk and blood [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Scarification, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 05:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passeridae/pseuds/passeridae
Summary: They have been living together for months, and if anything Jack’s reverence has increased rather than faded. Gabriel has so much power, uses it so casually. Even now it fills the room, darkening the walls and twisting the hanging food just that little bit closer to kelp. Causes the crabs under the bed to skitter with excitement, emerging to cluster at Gabriel’s feet before scuttling under the door and onto the sand outside.





	all these words are yours (heavy as we go)

There is a chill settled across the sand, creeping under the door to Jack’s shack and twining around his bones in swirls of frost. It’s midwinter, or near to it, and Jack has resigned himself to staying close to the fire until spring breaks. Black ice coats the rockpools, frost on the sand, seaspray sharp as hawthorn thorns in the face. Inside, at least, he has the warmth of the flames to keep his fingers mobile, can set some of the hearth-warmed stones under his feet. Bringing them down from the fields in autumn had nearly killed him, but he appreciates the labour every time they seep sensation back into his toes. It is early morning, weak light not yet making it through the cracks in his shutters, and Jack is still yawning from a night of sleep. He sleeps better now, deeper, with Gabriel in bed with him, but always wakes tired. A byproduct of the season, perhaps, or the trials of another year passed. 

Shaking himself to get all the cracks from his bones, he adds some kindling, chopped wood to the banked fire. As they catch, he makes his way over to his water barrel to splash some on his face, stimulating, washing the last of the grogginess from his eyes. Gabriel has done something to it, Jack knows not what, which ensures the barrel is always full, no matter how much he uses, and also causes the water to glimmer strangely in the half light of the morning. It is as if there is plankton or mica in it, but he can't feel anything out of the ordinary when he runs his hands through it, lets it drip down his neck. It tastes slightly sweet, lingering on his tongue and numbing his lips.

The next in his morning routine is tending to his shrine. This hasn't changed with the god himself living with him, rather has become more important. Set on his sole shelf there is a small soapstone-carved figure, surrounded by fragments of abalone shell, mother of pearl, pretty flecks of sea glass, a chunk of coral, twists of driftwood reminiscent of entwined lovers. He takes a cloth and slowly cleans them, sweeps down the wood below them. 

During the time Gabriel has been here, the offerings have almost seemed to acquire a life of their own. The coral has changed the most — from bleached white to a vibrant orange, rimmed in glowing greens. It seems to gently pulse in his palm, beating in time with his heart. The shell fragments have begun to produce light, too, an iridescence born of the sea which reflects in the glass to dapple the walls. He places the last of them down, surface clear, and runs his index finger over the driftwood. Unlike the rest of the shelf, it hasn’t begun to produce light. Instead, it has obtained opalescent streaks of something hard curling over its surface, a faint purplish sheen. Sometimes, when he wakes in the mornings, Jack sees Gabriel gently touching the items, the ghost of a smile on his face, though this particular morning he has yet to stir from their bed.

A damp smack causes him to startle. He turns towards the hearth, now cheerily lit, to see the equally startled fish writhing on the stone. In past winters, Jack has had to brave the elements to chop wood, gather food, but this season Gabriel has taken over those tasks without a word. Jack never sees him outside, but fish, molluscs, crustaceans, kelp, all these things appear on his hearth, still salty-slick and dripping with the sea. The water boils off the fish like mist, sending the sharp scent of brine curling into the air. Jack is thankful for this care, of course he is, the winter wind flays the flesh from his bones, and the sea is especially treacherous, but he fears for future seasons once he’s grown soft under this care. He swallows heavily at the thought, throat sticking shut. He does his best not to think too much on this, shoves it down in a chest inside his head.

He further distracts himself with motion. Smacking the fish against the stones stills its movement, then he quickly skins and guts it. The head and innards go in the stock pot, the rest of the flesh is chopped and cooked with a handful of myrtle. He treats these gifts as he would any of the sea’s bounty caught himself — half to him and half to the gods. The only difference, now, is that instead of placing the offering on the altar, he places it in front of Gabriel himself. 

The god in question is finally rousing himself, stretching serpentine under the covers of the bed. Jack averts his eyes, before he stares too long, but looks back to Gabriel watching him with an amused quirk to his lips regardless. He’s sprawled himself over the bed like a seal in the sun, languid, sleep soft, not feeling the cold on his bare skin. Jack dishes Gabriel’s food on his one plate, kneels next to the bed to put it before him. A cool hand cups his face, tilts his chin up, until he is looking Gabriel in the eye. His thumb runs over Jack’s lips, slow enough for him to place a soft kiss on the digit. Gabriel smiles, gaze unblinking, and Jack has to close his eyes, dizzy with the force of his regard. When he opens them again, the food is gone. A gentle kiss is placed on his lips, soft as seafoam, and then Gabriel is out of bed.

Jack starts to breathe again, deep pulls of air into his chest. He stands, slowly, collects the plate and goes to eat his own share. He sits in his sole chair, slowly chewing and staring absently at the wall opposite him. His shack has changed, over the course of winter, becoming something akin to an ocean grotto. The light shining on the walls ripples in gentle streaks, blues and purples and greens. The bundles of herbs and dried fish hanging from the ceiling warp in the gloom to resemble seaweed, darkening, elongating, draping themselves over and around each other. Sand has tracked under the door, is slowly reclaiming the floor. Crabs have begun nesting under his bed. 

It is to these crabs that he feeds the remains of his meal, fish scraps and little bits picked off the fish head before it goes on to simmer. He worries that, nested so far from the sea, they won’t have enough to eat throughout winter to survive. So focused on his task, he fails to notice the incredibly fond look Gabriel gives him as he settles to sit on the sand.

With a sigh, Jack stands again, wincing as his knees twinge at the motion. He makes a half aborted motion towards the door, to break the ice on the well, before remembering that he has no need to do so. Once again he worries, worries that Gabriel will tire of him and leave. Like the shifting of the tides, out of his life before the sun finishes setting. Taking with him all the bounty he has offered. One of the perils of winter, he thinks wryly, is that amongst all the work there is far too much time to think. 

He absently scratches at his neck, brushing the scarring there. Behind him, Gabriel’s attention focuses on the motion, intense, before slipping away as Jack drops his arm to his side. The light is good today, Jack decides, he’s going to darn one of his nets. Better now than rushing to do it before summer arrives, he may as well make himself useful. 

As he sits, mending the net, Gabriel is frowning down at his hands. In one he holds a knife, freshly sharpened, the other slowly opens and closes in on itself. A swell of deep-sea rock, a shoal of fish, an underwater grotto, a coral reef, all these things curl for fleeting moments in his palm. After working for some time, Jack looks up, blinking rapidly, focusing on Gabriel. As if sensing his gaze, Gabriel looks back, gestures Jack towards him. Jack sets his net aside, joins him on the floor.

Gabriel stares at him, through him, intent. Jack looks back, breathless under the weight of his gaze, takes in his knit cap on Gabriel’s head, incongruous against his bare chest. Gabriel doesn’t seem to feel the cold in the same way Jack does, although this is hardly a surprise. He can perform the actions well enough, when pressed, but doesn’t bother when it’s just the two of them. Jack tries not to feel flattered, soundly fails.

Gabriel’s empty hand reaches towards him, brushes against the scar on his neck. His scar. His teeth, imprinted deep into muscle. A reflexive shiver skitters down Jack’s spine, a frisson of cold fire, loosening the muscles of his back and tilting his head to the side. Gabriel smiles at the response, stroking his thumb back and forth over the silver snarls of scar tissue to watch Jack shiver. Jack lists forward a little, eyes fluttering closed. Gabriel stops. Jack’s eyes open again, confused, questioning. Gabriel slides his hand down from Jack’s neck, across his ribs, down to the hem of his jumper. He tugs slightly at it, pulling it upwards. 

“You want me to take it off?” Jack asks, his brow scrunched. Gabriel nods, face serious, hair starting to swirl gently at the ends, curling around his biceps in sinuous curves. His eyes take on a gleam and Jack frowns deeper. Gabriel is letting his power loose, letting it change him from human into something more. He only does this when about to use it. 

“What’s going on?” He wants to ask outright what Gabriel is doing, wants to be that impertinent, to question his god in that way. But it’s impossible — he can’t, can’t bring himself to do it. It goes against everything in him. Against years of prayers given and fulfilled, years of dedication aimed at this one deity. The time spent in close proximity. Mostly that last thing, if he’s being honest with himself.

They have been living together for months, and if anything Jack’s reverence has increased rather than faded. Gabriel has so much power, uses it so casually. Even now it fills the room, darkening the walls and twisting the hanging food just that little bit closer to kelp. Causes the crabs under the bed to skitter with excitement, emerging to cluster at Gabriel’s feet before scuttling under the door and onto the sand outside.

Gabriel twitches a hand, and Jack obediently leans in. Pulling him close, Gabriel presses their foreheads together, lets his hair twine around Jack’s torso, forces images into his mind. A mother seal bloodying the water protecting her young, the sharp snap and press of pressure before a storm hits, fish hiding deep in a bank of coral as turtles pass overhead. Jack reels as he sits back, nauseated. No matter how many times they do that, it never feels less like swallowing salt water. He takes a moment to calm his breathing and stare at the rug below him, woven from old and frayed rope. Traces a finger over the whorls of it, grounds himself in the sensation.

Eventually, when he no longer feels as if his stomach is attempting to leave his body, he looks back at Gabriel. The release of his powers has fractured his human form, fault lines running along his torso and arms, filled with dark water and sparkling lights. Angler fish and splitfins, luring prey into waiting maws with light. 

“You want to stop something?” Jack guesses, trying now to puzzle through the impressions he’s been given. 

Gabriel shakes his head, sharkskin curling along his jaw and vanishing. 

He tries again, “You want to hide me from something?” 

Gabriel waves a hand, makes a face. Closer, but not quite right. 

Jack takes a breath, thinks, discards various options for being too fanciful or not quite right somehow. A line of shells appear at Gabriel’s hairline, scales emerge on the back of his palms in rippling waves of blue, silver, black. He remains focused on Jack as he bites his lip and works through the options. Eventually Jack picks, “You want to protect me.” 

At this, Gabriel nods. A single, sharp action. Yes.

Jack inhales sharply, mouth opening. He hadn’t expected that to be the truth. A protection from a deity is an enormous boon to be granted, requires piety and purity, and sacrifice that he hasn’t given. “I— how? But—” 

Gabriel has no interest in his spluttering, clicks his tongue, tugs at his jumper again. Impatient, now. Jack rushes to obey, too shocked not to, quickly removing his jumper and shirt. Almost immediately, he shivers at the chill in the air, pulls his arms close to his body.

Tugging at him, Gabriel turns him onto his front, laying across the rug on his floor. The fibres are scratchy on his skin, and Jack shifts a little, uncomfortable. With no preamble, Gabriel sits on his upper thighs, effectively weighing him down. 

Jack swallows sharply, suddenly remembering the knife that Gabriel has been holding. His heart speeds up, the vulnerability of the position, the anticipation, all causing it to beat like the wings of seabirds. 

Gabriel places one palm on his upper back, heavy and grounding, starts to croon something soft and lilting. Whalesong, perhaps.

And then there is agony. Jack chokes a gasp, all the muscles in his body tensing as the knife bites into his lower back. Gabriel continues to sing lowly as he carves protection into his own. Offerings must be given, sacrifices made, blood and pain in turn. 

Jack trembles, tries not to move, to endure. There are brief moments of reprieve, changes of angle and location, but they are few and far between. The sound of Gabriel’s singing fades, paired with a ringing in his ears, his eyes staring sightlessly into the rope under his face.

He sweats, a cold sweat, and it only adds to the chill he feels. The winter ocean, washing over him, engulfing him never to break the surface. Fingers and toes fading first, moving closer to consume his heart.

His hands are free, but he doesn’t move them. He can’t. It hurts, oh it hurts, the knife pressing into him, rending him, pain deep as a broken bone and far sharper, but he can’t stop it. He can’t. He wants to endure. To endure this agony for his god, to please him. Show his dedication in whatever way he can. Gabriel has already given him so much, and through this he is giving him so much more. 

There is leather between his clenched teeth, his belt folded in half. He has no idea when it was placed there. He breathes through his nose, heavy, gasping, sobbing. He thinks he may be crying, salt spilling down his cheeks and neck. He can feel blood winding down his sides, tickling, pooling viscous under him. Gabriel’s hand on his upper back is a brand, the hot slice of oyster shells in his flesh. He trembles, exhausted, keening, drowning.

Gabriel places the knife down. Jack sees it in his peripheral, gleaming red from tip to tang. His tense muscles ease, minutely, jaw unclenching from the belt, hands loosening from tight fists. Gabriel is still singing above him. Soft, lilting, gentling. The hand on his back curls, thumb pressing whorls into his muscle. Jack’s breathing slows. 

Then he chokes, screams, as the flesh of his back begins to burn. He has never felt anything like this before, not with broken bones, or whippings, or burns. It is as if Gabriel has reached inside his back and twisted at the torn flesh, ripped handfuls away. His scream tapers into a choke, vibrating with tension. 

The pain flares again, stronger, tearing through him like a tide. His vision goes black, ears ring so loud Gabriel’s song is completely unheard. It’s too much, too much. He can’t — he thinks he may briefly black out.

When Jack awakens, his back is bandaged and he is on their bed. The cuts burn and sting, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, sending waves of pain down his legs and up his neck. He can’t concentrate on anything but the sheer, overwhelming ache of it. 

Gabriel, on the other side of the room, notices his eyes are open and smiles, soft, wrings out a piece of bloodied fabric and crosses over to join him. He runs a palm down Jack’s arm, proprietary, pleased, eyes still gleaming like sea glass in the gloom. He joins Jack in the bed. They curl together like two halves of a shell, nestled together as one. Jack tries to shift closer and screams, breathy, air caught in his chest. His slight motion causes the pain to flare anew, far too sharp, too strong to be normal. 

“What did you do?” he asks, trembling, as Gabriel slowly licks the salt from his cheeks, curls an arm around his ribs to hold him still. 

Pressing their foreheads together again, Gabriel shows him — pressing salt into the wounds, packing them open. Binding it in. Slow and reverent, no need to rush with Jack so still under him. Salt and iron staining his lips crimson as they curl in contentment. 

“Oh god,” Jack chokes out, trying to recoil. 

Gabriel holds him in place with his arms, his hair, shushes him as he pats across Jack’s brow. Jack trembles in his gasp, unable to stop, each twitch sending new bolts of pain skittering along his spine. 

Eventually, fitfully, he falls asleep, Gabriel wrapped around him like an octopod. 

When he wakes, the pain burns as sharp as the day before. Jack tries to sit, collapses as his arms refuse to support his weight. Gabriel, already awake, still curled close around him, traces a palm down his pale, sweaty cheek. Smiles, gentle, seafoam soft. It is almost possible to forget that he is the one to cause the hurt to begin with. Jack presses into the touch as much as he dares. Slowly, agonisingly, Gabriel arranges him in their bed so he’s half propped up on his side, feeds him a heavily salted broth. 

Later in the day, the crabs slide back under the door, bearing with them abalone almost twice their size. Gabriel shucks them, grills the meat, passes the shells themselves to Jack. He has never seen a complete one before, only the shards on the beach, and he marvels at the size of them, at the sheen like an oil slick but so much deeper. Less ephemeral, scintillating in the gloom of his shack. Shining like the sea itself lives inside it. 

Gabriel feeds him the flesh, bone white, piece by piece with his fingers. They’re soft, rich, juices spill down his chin as Gabriel pulls his fingers away, to be kissed clean. An offering, given and returned. Jack notices how Gabriel eyes the line of his throat as he swallows, doesn’t know quite what to make of it, is in too much pain to try. Gabriel pushes another morsel into his mouth, then another, until he has eaten the entire mollusc. The shell is placed on his altar. As Gabriel touches it, it starts to glow. 

The wound heals slowly, taking the rest of winter to so much as scab. Gabriel packs it with salt three more times, each as agonising as the first. Jack considers pleading with Gabriel not to do it, almost does, so overwhelmed with pain that he feels he can’t take another moment of it, let alone more. But his eyes fall on the abalone shell, casting teal light on the wall. The piece of bright amber that Gabriel had offered him one morning, buttery yellow, big as his fist. Thinks of how Gabriel has cared for him as he screamed and shivered, no longer able to keep himself still. How he carded through his hair and curled whorls into the bite scar on his neck. Of breathing in the ocean, steady as the tide. And he relents, lies flat and chokes out his agony as Gabriel packs the ocean into his flesh.

As spring comes, Jack is able to leave the house again. He is not yet able to cast a line, lacking the range of motion needed, but is able to forage along the rock pools, pick along the shoreline for interesting finds. He heals, the scarring raised and ropy, itching at the oddest times. He asks Gabriel if the itching means that the protection is working, watches as he laughs, silently, looks up with bright eyes and kisses the palm of Jack’s hand. Jack takes that to mean yes.

Some months later, he goes into town to trade for some more flour. Half the town has been eradicated by a disease that left its sufferers dead in days, stripped the water right from their bodies. The place is a shadow of what it once was. More than one person mentions that they had thought him dead as well. That night, Gabriel bites his way across the scarring, sucking blood to the skin as Jack writhes beneath him. Later, a storm that tears buildings from their moorings leaves his shack entirely unaffected other than a broken window latch. They are curled so close that night, Jack doesn’t notice the wind’s howling at all. He is initially grateful, confused, then suspicious. A storm isn’t something Gabriel can protect him from, is it? And if it is, how far does that protection spread? He sits, whittles, thinks deeply in breathless amazement, breath punched from his lungs by the gift given to him. The extent of the protections carved into his flesh, the magnitude of it, is overwhelming.

He finds Gabriel standing at the water’s edge, facing land, feet sunk into the soft sand. Fish shoal through the air around him, a seal sits at his ankles slowly blinking. Spines undulate down one calf, brightly coloured fronds down the other. Volcanic rock peeks through his skin, revealing deep chasms of writhing movement. A tentacle, an enormous eye, spindly teeth. Gabriel’s eyes are pure black, glimmering with the same light as seaglass, fractalling fragmented colours, his teeth clustered dense and sharp. Jack realises, belatedly, that Gabriel’s appearance is becoming less and less human the longer they are together. Closer to the sea. He steps closer, drops to his knees at Gabriel’s feet, and stares up in awe. A wave ripples over his thighs.

Gabriel rests a hand on his cheek and smiles down, benevolent. Something hungry lurks behind his lips.


End file.
